


The Goblet of Ash

by xXxKxXx



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28545516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxKxXx/pseuds/xXxKxXx
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament has returned to Hogwarts, bringing darker, stranger, and more bewildering challenges than ever before. When Evie's name rises from the Goblet of Fire, she feels the weight of the Wizarding's World's attention on her back-but that's exactly what she wanted. There's only one pair of eyes watching jealously from the Great Hall crowd that truly frighten her-only one person that knows how to shake her resolve.Ever the pernicious shadow, Atrius Malfoy-the oldest son of Draco Malfoy-has been a thorn in Evie's side since their first year. Now, he's grown into a terrifying figure with more than a few ghosts adopted from his father's past. He won't take kindly to her stealing the championship selection, but no matter. There's more to him-as well as this homicidal tournament-than meets the eye.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	1. The Lestrange House

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> If you're an old reader of mine, big hugs. If you're new, welcome! For all fanfic intents and purposes, you can call me "K."
> 
> Basically, there are two things in this world that are an endless source of serotonin for me: reading/writing romance, and all things Harry Potter. This work is going to delve as deep as possible into the HP canon universe—with the exception of creating a "ninth" year at Hogwarts (I prefer to write romance with older characters), and Draco Malfoy having a second (older) son (don't worry about the timeline, lol). I also never really felt that Draco had a worthy redemption arc, so you might find that influencing the story a bit.
> 
> If I make a mistake somewhere, feel free to let me know! Otherwise, for anyone that reads this (if anyone), I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Death awaited me inside the Lestrange house—a dark, rustic monument of windows and levels cascading over themselves through the tall, bare branches of the forest. I had arrived by portkey minutes ago, seeing all but a few lights turned out and only the night sky raining down from overhead. By now, I’d lost track of how long I’d been standing and waiting, contemplating whether my murder would be borne of love or wrath.

Leaves rustled as I took my bag in my sweaty hand and finally went up the steps. A weak knock on the heavy, ornate door was met with stony silence and the rustle of cold wind behind me. After a few awkward moments of silence and the chill of wind on my back, a tall, gaunt woman finally answered the door—a pair of black orbs scanning me thoroughly from an oddly ‘sunken’ face. All her clothes were black as night.

“Miss Nott,” she muttered tightly.

“Miss Lestrange…” I mumbled back, albeit less pointedly than she was used to. While we stood and stared at one another—my encounters with this woman were always so uncomfortable—Iheard the thumping of feet down the vast marble staircase behind her.

“Evie!” Freya barreled around her aunt and threw her arms around me at the doorstep, knocking over my suitcase. I nearly went with it back down the stairs. I could barely muster a chuckle as I returned the hug, watching as Freya’s aunt rolled her eyes disapprovingly before walking off.

I suppose she wasn’t planning on sticking around for my murder, then.

Not that any of them knew it was coming.

Freya pulled back and smiled. “Come on, let’s get you inside—oh, it’s so good to see you, and you’re just in time for dinner!” She grabbed my bag and went straight for the stairs, expecting me to follow. True to her nature, as Freya rarely anticipated anyone doing anything outside her knowledge or expectations.

Sure enough, I followed after her, admiring the house as I went—a gothic vision of dark, rustic forestry and luxury combined. Freya’s near-white hair fluttered behind her as we reached the top of the stairs and made our way toward her room, with her still muttering on about not seeing me all summer. Only one of us knew how that enthusiasm was about to dim.

“Ican’t tell you how dull it’s been living here all summer,” she said. I leaned against the doorframe and offered a weak but knowing smile, waiting for her to get it all out to slide a word in edgewise. “I really don’t understand why mum and dad sent me here to begin with. Even Lucretia spent most of the summer at home. Why couldn’t I just do the same?”

“That’s a good question…” I mumbled absently as my attention slid over my shoulder, toward the neighboring door across the hall. Taken from the blackest wood and carved almost as large and ornately as the front entrance, it even had its own lock—like a great big warning against anyone that dared a look in its occupant’s direction.

_Don’t look._

_Don’t even breathe in my direction—_

“He’s not here,” Freya said with a knowing look, watching me still standing in the doorway. “You can relax, Atrius is at the World Cup camp already. In case that’s what’s got you so tense.”

Did I look tense? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrugged it off—my best attempt at it, anyway—and then glanced up and down the hallway. “But if Atrius is at the Cup, does that mean Scorpius is with him, too?”

I was so fond of that child. Usually, when Atrius Malfoy visited the house, his younger brother Scorpius tagged along as well—but there was no sign of a little blonde boy running around these halls, or his mother and father: Draco and Astoria Malfoy.

“No, he’s with his parents. They’ve got their own tent at the Cup,” she said. “We’ll be sharing one with a few other people—Atrius’s friends, I think. I hope you don’t mind.” She looked down at my lone suitcase. “Is this all you’ve brought?”

Another shrug. “It’s all I need.”

_—all I have._

“No problem—bit surprising, is all,” Freya said. “Mum and dad can hardly force us out of the house without sending half our wardrobe with us.”

I didn’t have a wardrobe. I barely had half a proper one—it was no small accident that Freya had never seen my house during the summers. “Well, you know me. I travel light,” I said, then swallowed thickly. Now, came the moment of truth. “Listen… there’s something I wanted to tell you about—”

“Freya!” Her aunt’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Come down!”

She rolled her eyes. “Damn it. That’ll be dinner—sorry, what did you want to tell me?”

I gritted my teeth. I’d need more than a few moments to do this. “Ah—let’s talk after dinner.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely.”

Freya scanned me top to bottom—unconvinced and searching for clues—but eventually gave in. “Well, alright. If you say so.”

The Lestranges were a proud pureblood family among theWizarding World, and dinner with the lot of them was akin to dinner with a pack of well-bred, well-mannered _feral_ cats (Freya’s words—not mine). Sitting across the table from her aunt and two older cousins, each one of them was as sharp with their words as they were their eyes. A small chandelier was the only source of light from above, setting an eerie atmosphere across the table.

It was nearing the start of term, and Freya and her cousins often spent the last few weeks of summer in this house. Currently, at any moment, one wrong word would have plates thrown across the room like sharp projectiles, precisely aimed at one another’s throats—which was why I mostly kept silent in their presence on the rare occasion that I visited. My family—the Nott family—was pureblood in its roots and had allied with the Dark Lord after his rising. That earned me far less favor among many of the families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but was mercifully enough to have me curtly tolerated as a silent monument at the Lestrange table.

“I heard they’ve announced the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts this year,” Ms. Lestrange shot Freya an icy stare across the table. The effect, unfortunately, carried over one seat—right onto me.

Meanwhile, Freya withered where she sat under the weight of her aunt’s glare. “Erm—yes, I heard about that.”

“Are you going to enter?” It rather sounded more like an accusation.

I looked to my left at my best friend, seeing her features twisting a bit. God, I’d never seen Freya more nervous than in the presence of her family. I’d step in, but I rather valued my eyeballs staying un-plucked from their sockets. “Well, I—I don’t think I’d like it very much…”

“That’s hardly a reason…” Ms. Lestrange spat in that condescending lilt of hers. “Even Atrius intends to enter—isn’t that right, Lucretia?”

My knife slipped on the piece of meat I was cutting as one of the twins looked up. By my understanding, Atrius was closer to Lucretia than any of his cousins—she was a surefire source of accurate information.

Lucretia nodded with a venomous smile in Freya’s direction. “Told me himself the moment the contest was announced.”

She wilted even more, but none of them had any idea what this conversation was doing to me. My hands had paled—I could barely cut the edge of my meat anymore.

“And what about you, Ms. Nott?” My gaze darted toward Freya’s aunt at the mention of my name, though no one else’s eyes were turned in my direction—not even Freya’s.

I fiddled with my fork nervously, still staring at Freya, then breathed out the word: “Well, erm… I don’t know, I’m thinking about it—”

Freya choked, pieces of meat flying from her mouth.

Thrown into a coughing fit that had me patting her back, Freya’s eyes teemed with rage and disbelief when she turned them on me. “What in the _bloody hell_ are you talking about.”

“Well, I…” My voice came out in a hesitant whisper, “I’m just thinking about it” _—lies—_ “I was going to tell you sooner—”

 _“Not soon enough,”_ she hissed, table manners forgotten. Her glare iced my entire left side and would’ve frozen any passerby in fear. She pointed a knife at me, though I don’t think she realized how frightening it was—how frightening _she_ became when she was this upset. “Is this what you were going to tell me upstairs?”

I nodded curtly. “I haven’t made any decisions yet.”

_More lies._

“Oh, sure.” Clearly, she didn’t believe it. Her voice poured like venom off her tongue. “And how long have you been _‘thinking about it?’”_

“Let’s talk about it later,” I murmured. Freya’s eyes never left mine as her glare burned into my skull.

“You’ll never make it,” Lucretia crooned from across the table. “If anyone among us will be chosen, it will be Atrius.”

I shot her the coldest glare I dared to muster at this table, then returned to eating without another word. Later on, in Freya’s bedroom, we sat with a floating oil lamp between us, little sputters of fire flickering beyond the glass. Her room was a great deal nicer than any hotel I’d ever stayed in, darkly reminiscent of the fine royal drapes and furniture style at the palace of Versailles—so tastefully arranged with comfort and decadence in mind.

“I wish you’d told me sooner that you’d lost your mind and wanted to throw your life away,” Freya seethed, leaning against her bed while I sat in the center of the room. “Honestly, I’d make it easier for you and kill you myself.”

“It’s more than just a tournament,” I explained, staring into the flames. “There’s all these benefits to it. Even after we graduate, it’ll be that much easier for me to become an auror. Never mind the monetary prize—”

“What’s a monetary prize compared to the value of your life?” Freya snapped. “What madness would drive you to even consider entering such a homicidal tournament?”

What madness, indeed?

What was the madness behind any of this?

The ‘bigger picture’ was harder to process and rationalize. Tournaments in the Wizarding World, for starters, were apparently cursed to take place within the same year. The last time the Quidditch World Cup was held was in tandem with the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. That was the first time Britain had played host to the Cup in thirty years—that year was also the first Tournament held since its banishment near 1792, when a Cockatrice had escaped a challenge and injured three of the judges. The timing was said to be a coincidence, some called it, though others named the entire business a scourge—they were proven right the night of the third challenge, when Cedric Diggory was killed and the Dark Lord rose from the grave.

The tournament’s reinstatement this year, therefore, was as confusing as it was unexpected. The negative attention it garnered in the Daily Prophet couldn’t be understated. Each explanation was as unsettling and unlikely as the next, and even in my own daily life, I could feel others’ temper escalating in each conversation that brushed the subject. Though, I feared Freya’s wrath far more than any conversation or ‘homicidal tournament’ bound in my direction, once she learned that I made the decision to enter without telling her. I could scarcely imagine anyone in our circle guessing I’d make the choice—given our numerous explicit conversations about how terrifyingly psychotic one would have to be to throw their name into the Goblet of Fire.

Granted, none of them had considered the prosperity that the selection alone would bring. I could live out my days scouring for the attention and opportunity it offered. Freya always said I should have done so well in Gryffindor—if I hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin nine years ago.

“They’ve got more regulations now since the last one, you know,” I explained. “It’s not like they _want_ to go picking off students left and right.”

Freya scowled. “One of these days, your lust for danger is going to get you killed,” the fire between us flickered with her rage. “And you know what? I _won’t_ be singing at your funeral. In fact, I won’t attend at all.”

“At least Atrius will have occasion to dance,” I mumbled under my breath. “Perhaps he’ll do it on my grave.”

She grew utterly still. “Evie, how can you say that?”

I looked at her, feeling more confused than she looked. Freya knew very well ‘how’ I could say that about a character like Atrius. Setting aside his unfortunate personality, there wasn’t a soul at Hogwarts that wasn’t aware of what had happened between us.

I sat and stared without a word, letting the air grow awkward until she sighed in acquiescence. “You’re right,” Freya said. “I’m sorry. I should know better.”

“You’re not the one who owes me an apology.”

Freya looked away. “Well, _I’ll_ be the one withholding forgiveness if _you_ die this year.”

“I’m not going to die,” I assured her. “I promise, everything’s going to be just fine.”


	2. Quidditch World Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)

The camp was situated past the same forested area as the last World Cup—unsurprising, since that’s where the arena was. I’d already grabbed a bottled butter beer on our way in, tarrying after Freya down the lanterned trail. Gold, green, and violet banners flew along the paths and over the tops of the tents as we passed by.

Gold and green represented the Holyhead Harpies of Wales, while a lighter shade of gold and violet were of the Pride of Portree team from Scotland. Little campsites were already set up in allotted spaces set up between the tents, droves of families and groups of friends intermingling with food. All manner of magical trinkets flew about between them, instruments playing themselves as people danced.

Excitement rattled my bones with the drums beating in the distance, and I found I couldn’t stop smiling—the music was thrumming, the crowds were lively. I’d never been to a World Cup before, but if it was half as exciting as this, I fully understood the hype.

“How are you not freezing in that?” Freya slowed to my side when I began falling behind. I was sporting a light jacket and tank top, while she was all wrapped up in her coat and scarf. 

“Father’s heritage, I suppose.”I shrugged and laughed. “Where’s our campsite?”

“Just around the corner—there!” Freya pointed toward a bend in the path not too far away.

Our tent was a rather large one among the sea of them, with a forgotten fire pit still spitting sparks of fire just outside the entrance, the embers burning low. Numerous bottles and half-eaten plates had also been left out on the grass, abandoned by their masters. As I pushed the flap aside and followed Freya into the tent, I realized that it wasn’t tall on the inside, but it stretched much further back than I’d have expected.

As we drew further, there wasn’t any particular theme to the array of fabrics draped along the walls. Incense let off curls of smoke that dissipated into the air, couches strewn everywhere, more bottles of empty butter beer all over the tables. A few green and silver blankets joined the plethora of pillows, some positioned in the most unlikely places—along the dining room table chairs and even a spot just beneath the fireplace—and finally, an entire second level had been allotted to the bedroom, a sky roof open just above the beds.

“Oh, no—you’ll have to try harder than that, mate,” a familiar voice cut through the air. Straight through the backdrop of the chattering outside.

Freya’s head snapped toward it as she moved deeper into the tent. In one of the sectioned-off corners, we found a billiard table had been all set up. Except, instead of billard balls, a game of Exploding Snap had been set up—a variant of it I’d played on many occasions with Freya. The rules were simple enough: all the cards were laid in a circle, with identical ones dealt near the center. The identical cards needed to be tapped with the tip of the player’s wand within a limited time frame, or all of the cards would explode. Several burn marks around the table suggested we’d missed multiple rounds of the game.

The point of a silver wand was pressed into one of the identical cards nearly across the table, a long arm stretching with the full length of Atrius’s body as he smiled devilishly at his friend—Oliver Abbott. Lucretia stood off in the corner—evidently having arrived ahead of us—as well as Theseus Prewett. All pure-blood families, all more than a little acquainted with the Malfoy and Lestrange households.

Oliver, with his near-red eyes and hair to match, scowled at Atrius. Atrius scowled right back—with a bit of a mocking sneer to boot. His silvery hair was tied halfway back, having grown since the last time I saw him, and barely reached the middle of his neck. A single strand fell loose across the side of his face, accentuating the sculpted angle of his jaw, drawing attention to his features. He was wearing all black, head to toe.

Atrius’s silver eyes flashed in our direction, jumping from Freya and hovering over me briefly. A jolt of fear drew my eyes away away, but not before seeing his expression shift like he’d tasted something sour. “Get on with it, will you?” he addressed Oliver. “I’m getting tired of waiting.

Instead, Oliver turned on us both with more than a friendly smile. “Can’t right now—the ladies are here,” he drew out the word like it was velvet on his tongue, his arms opening for an embrace. “Have a good summer? How about a hug for—”

“No.” Freya walked by and slammed him in the stomach, going to give Theseus a hug instead.

I smirked as Oliver turned his gaze in my direction next, expression reading, ‘how about you?’

“Come near me, and you’ll further cement yourself on the list of people never to be hugged,” I said with a tad more humor than Freya had afforded. I merely patted him on the shoulder as I walked by—pointedly avoiding eye contact with Atrius. Between my nonchalant walk and his fixation with the table, I couldn’t tell which of us was avoiding the other more vehemently.

I went straight for Theseus after Freya, wrapping my arms around him. He lifted me into a big hug as he said, “It’s good to see you, Evie!”

“Great to see you, too,” I said I pulled back, noticing his slight wince. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Only a bit,” he laughed. “You’ve gotten stronger this summer, haven’t you?”

I laughed. “I dunno, have I?”

“Who wouldn’t, with all that exercising…” Freya muttered under her breath, but everyone heard it. All eyes turned suspiciously toward her. She quickly realized her surveillance and rolled her eyes. “What? She’s been out and about training. Get your minds out of the gutter.”

“Mine wasn’t in the gutter,” Oliver chimed innocently.

“Training?” Theseus turned back to me. “Whatever for?”

“Ah—” I wasn’t ready for this conversation. “Nothing really. Just my ow purposes.”

An explosion saved me at that moment, coming from the billiards table. I whirled in place, seeing Atrius brushing off a few black bits of char from his face, now standing at his full, lean height. “Ran low on patience. We should get going, anyway,” he said coolly, grabbing his Slytherin scarf off a nearby chair and throwing it around his neck. “They’re starting the collections game soon.”

“Oh, bugger, that’s right!” Theseus exclaimed. “We’ve got to get there early!”

I looked at him. “What’s a collections game?”

He flashed me a smile. “Oh—you’re going to like this.”

Out in the middle of th fields, the collections game was a tall, spinning whirlpool of magic with merchandise from both the Pride of Portree and Holyhead Harpies teams. As we drew near it, I began seeing it beyond the tips of the other tents. It had a barrier the others hadn’t mentioned. We moved toward it in a massive group across the camp, weaving between tents and families sitting about laughing and enjoying their dinners and drinks. I did my best to keep to the opposite side of the group from where Atrius was.

When we were close, all the area was in an uproar where the game was set up, banners and bells and music invigorating the air. I looked past the crowd of people that had assembled, up at the towering column of trinkets and items floating around each other in a spiral. Magical cords passed through the barrier and caught onto pieces every now and again, pulling them back out.

“Right, here’s what we’re going to do.” Oliver whirled and gathered us all together.Atrius’s eyes met mine briefly as he turned toward the circle, hands in the pockets of his black coat. “We’re going to scatter, try to make a show of winning the game—move your arms about and make less space for others near the front of the line. Wouldn’t hurt to ‘accidentally’ snap one of the other cords out of the way, if you know what I mean.”The group agreed, albeit deviously. Slytherins, we were—no arguing the fact. “Right—let’s have a go, then!”

We all scattered immediately, pulling back and spreading throughout the area—looking for fun little trinkets that spoke to each one of us.

Freya and I stuck together, just as we always did.

“Which one are you going for?” She exclaimed over the bustling crowd. “Hurry up and pick, or the best ones will have gone!”

“There!” I pointed to the top of the whirlpool, toward the broomstick with the harpy claw at the blunt end. “I want that one!”

“Ah—immaculate choice,” Freya stepped aside and let me get as close to the barrier as possible.

I stood in front of her and readied myself, standing with my legs spread apart—nice and sturdy.

 _“Carpe retract—”_ Before I could finish the spell, another silver cord gripped the broom and pulled it out of the whirlwind. My jaw dropped, and Freya laughed.

“It’s alright, try again,” she patted me on the back. “What about those?” The moment she pointed to the bundled up quidditch boots, they were stolen again. “This game certainly moves fast, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said.

After managing to grab a harpy plush toy that I handed off to Freya, I scanned the remaining trinkets, stopping when I saw a glowing World Cup trophy trinket that no one had managed to snag.

 _“Carpe rectractum!”_ I cried out, the spell cascading past the barrier and latching onto it.

Another cord snapped in through the barrier, wrapping around mine.

“What!?” I screeched, then followed the line down to its owner.

A flash of silver—

I stopped moving—stopped _breathing_ —for a moment or two as Atrius’s infuriated attention searched out the other end of the cord. When he found it, his face went eerily blank, like a deer in headlights. Suddenly, the weight of the cord felt heavier, all the sounds surrounding me drowning out a bit. My spell was intertwined with his, and this really had to have been the most interaction we’d had since our sixth year at Hogwarts. We hadn’t even _looked_ at one another this long since then. The last time I’d drawn my wand against him like this, it was in the Dueling Club that same year. He’d cast a spell that cold winter evening that had sent swaths of red across my body, like shards of glass exploding in my face, splitting my skin in thin slivers.

If I thought hard enough, I could still remember the ashen color of his face when the streaking blood filled my entire front side, crimson pooling beneath me. It was right after I’d disarmed, stunned, and turned him over in front of the entire club. The spell he’d cast was so abrupt, so out of nowhere—I’d never seen the Great Hall empty so quickly, such panic ensuing in its four walls. I remembered little of what happened after, save for waking in the hospital wing.

I never did find out what that spell was or where he’d learned it, but the entire incident had nearly cost him his attendance at Hogwarts. Atrius had been cold to me since then—as though I was the one at fault and despite my friendship with Freya—and it was a never ending winter between us, now.

My palms sweated, the fear clearly written across my features. Apparently, Atrius never blinked when he stared. 

_Be brave,_ I encouraged myself inwardly. After all, I’d have to face much worse than Atrius when I joined the tournament—if I were worthy of selection at all. _Be worthy._

I shook my head, turning my attention back on the trophy and giving it a stubborn tug. There was an answering pull from the other end. When I looked back at Atrius, he wore an expression of cautious shock. Anotherpull on my end was met withthe same resounding defiance on his. Finally, I mustered the courage to throw Atrius a seething look across the circle. The one he returned me was utterly unreadable—not a hint of hostility, but it aggressive all the same.

My heart raced.

_Be brave. Be worthy._

I moved closer toward the barrier, sticking one foot onto the invisible wall, followed by the other. Pretty soon, I hung off the wall with my wand in both hands, fighting to get the trophy as I mouthed another spell— _confundus._

One glance down at Atrius showed his brows shooting up—like the wind had carried the word straight to him. His feet slipped out from underneath him, throwing him backwards into the grass. The crowd leapt back to avoid being knocked over, and somewhere across the way, I heard Oliver laugh.

The trophy flew to my hands as I flipped backward, barely catching it—and myeslf—before I landed on one knee in the grass.

“Well done, Evie!” Freya crooned as she tarried over to help me up. I knew she meant it in more way than one.

Atrius barely helped himself to his feet before lanterns lit up the pathways between the tents, leading toward the stadium. The Cup was about to begin.

“Far cry from leaving empty-handed, are we?” Theseus laughed nervously as he came over and saw the two trinkets I’d won for myself and Freya. Behind him, the rest of the group slowly converged with Atrius at the very back, accompanied by Lucretia. “Well done, Evie!”

Again, I could sense the undertone of his words. Everyone there knew exactly what had happened just now. “Thanks,” I breathed out. “Piece of cake, really.”

I didn’t look at Atrius as the group converged fully, and it was difficult to convince myself that the eyes I felt on my back weren’t really there. Mercifully, by the time we reached the stadium, the wind had started to pick up, cooling my heated skin. Pockets of clouds moved across the sky—it rarely rained this time of year, but they were a beautiful contrast against the starry panorama. Especially with how high up we were. Not quite at the top, but very near to it. Just enough that I wouldn’t be straining my neck to look up at the game from somewhere down below. The stadium lights alone were blinding, never mind the glistening bits of magic reigning down over the scoreboard. An invisible hand scrawled a welcoming message over the scores themselves:

_Holyhead Harpies - 00_

_Pride of Portree - 00_

The metal railing was cold as I leaned over it and looked out at the crowds of people, amazed at how immensely vast this was. Wind whipped my honey-colored hair as a figure appeared at my side, bumping into me. Looking over, my heart nearly seized when Atrius’s tall backside appeared in front of me, bumping into me again as he turned and order Oliver to leave Lucretia and Freya alone once and for all.

I slid away from him instantly, putting space between us for Freya to eventually get over to me.

I slept well later that night, knowing the Holyhead Harpies had won.


	3. Arrival At Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish more people understood the joys of fan fiction. Boy oh boy do I have some plans for these two (we'll also be seeing more of our favorite characters from the original series soon, all in their canonical occupations following the battle at Hogwarts). Anywho, thanks for reading! :) Please don't forget to favorite/follow, and feedback is always welcome! See you next time!

Freya snapped her copy of the Daily Prophet, eyes scanning the pages furiously as she sat in the seat across from me. The train rumbled and shook as I leaned my head against the glass, watching the raindrops spill by and counting the clouds as best I could. The words ‘conspiracy at Hogwarts’ had been plastered across the first page, and I was done staring at them—Freya was now reading the continued portion of the news article on page eight. When the trolley rolled by, she set the paper down on the seat and went to go buy something from it—I took the chance to lean forward and grab it, watching as the article’s picture shifted from a dark—and conveniently ominous—panorama of the castle to a photo of Headmistress McGonagall.

“Insanity, isn’t it?” Freya murmured moments later as she plopped back down, offering me a Cauldron Cake and Pumpkin Pasty in exchange for the paper. “I wonder why McGonagall would want the entire world’s eye turned on Hogwarts like this.”

I shrugged as I took a bite of the Cauldron Cake, tasting the chocolate and butter creme layers. “Tournament’s supposed to be friendly competition between the Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs,” I said, my voice a bit muffled. “It was meant to bring people together. If you ask me, now’s the perfect time to give that another go.”

“The Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs aren’t even competing this year. It’ll be Ilvermorny and Koldovstoretz.”

I blinked—America and Russia were competing, this time? “What?” I muttered. “Why change that, all of a sudden?”

Freya pointed to the paper like it was pure rubbish in her hands. “According to this load of wallop, that’s that ‘unity’ effort you were talking about.”

I furrowed a brow. “Why is it wallop?”

“They’re expecting a broader reach across the world by involving those schools? Don’t make me laugh,” she said. “Bringing other schools into Hogwarts like this, not knowing who the students are or their backgrounds—we’ll have more than the tournament to worry about this year, mark my words.”

My chewing slowed at the solemness in her voice, and then I swallowed.“What are you talking about?”

The rain pounded against the window as Freya stared at me. “They hate us—all of them. You knew they do.”

“Who hates us?”

“The world, Evie,” she said. “Maybe not you—not as much, anyway. But I’m a Lestrange. My cousins are Malfoys. Even those at Hogwarts don’t like us much, since they all know our families sided with the Dark Lord—what do you think will happen when all these other people learn of it? Most especially if you or Atrius are selected for the tournament?”

I rolled my eyes. “Let them do and say what they will. If I’m chosen for the tournament, they’re welcome to make fools of themselves by implying that I’m anything other than a student participating in an international competition.”

“Don’t be so naive—big words and eloquent speech won’t change the narrative,” Evie said. “People are products of their families—just take a look at mine. Cold, pernicious villains, the lot of them. Others are right to fear my cousins. You may not be a Lestrange, but you are a Nott—you bear the burden of your family just as surely as I do.”

“No,” I answered instantly. “The world might think so—and so might you—but I decide the burdens I carry. No one gets to decide that except for me.”

“Fine.” Freya looked back down at the paper, reading off one of the sections. “They’re saying this tournament commemorates the Dark Lord—if a death eater’s descendant is chosen to compete, there’ll be more than dragons and mermaids to worry about at Hogwarts. Mark my words, I tell you.”

“If you’re right, it’ll be a lesson for the world,” I said. “Let them learn to see us for who we are and not the choices of our parents.”

“It’d certainly be easier if our parents weren’t still mucking it up for us,” she said, tossing the paper to the side frustratedly. “D’you know my family agrees with this idea of the Dark Lord’s commemoration? Apparently that’s why my aunt wanted me to enter so badly—it’s why they look so highly upon Atrius for doing it.”

I arched a brow. “And what does Atrius think of that?”

“I’ll bet he agrees with them.” Freya shrugged. “But I don’t know. My cousin is a mystery, even to me. I have no idea why he wants to enter the tournament—it’s not like he needsany more favor in our family.”

My heart went out to her, the hints of sadness in her voice as she said that last part. “You don’t need to enter any tournament to be worthy of their admiration, Frey. I hope you know that.”

She stared blankly out the window. “I wish I did.”

“Worthiness is not about the glory you bring your family—love isn’t a transaction, it’s about connection.”

“Pretty words.” Her voice was harsh, but her eyes turned the slightest bit glossy. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Keeping you alive is going to be a full time job this year, isn’t it?”

I snorted. “You know me—I’ll keep myself alive, somehow,” I said. “Just stay by my side through all this, that’s all I ask of you.”

“That’s _all_ you ask of me?”

I gave her a funny look. “Of course, what else is there?”

Freya looked like she was going to say something, but then thought better of it. “Never mind. Come on, we’ll be arriving soon. We should gather our things.”

A few hours later, the sorting ceremony proceeded much as it always did—the hat sang its merry heart out with a brand new rendition of its song, then sorted all the first-years into their respective houses. All the professors sat magnificently at the head of the room, their fine goblets much larger and more adorned than any of ours.

I had settled beside Freya at Slytherin’s table, drowning out the clatter and boisterous laughs as others welcomed the new first years into their houses. Not only was I incredibly _starved,_ my anxiety had settled on what I already knew would come next with the headmistress’s announcement—it’s what we all knew, but you would think that I was the only one who remembered. I seemed to be the only one looking every bit as anxious as I felt.

Me and Atrius, anyway—he was just across the table. Along with Oliver, Theseus, and Lucretia.

A quick scan of their faces showed no apprehension of what was happening—not a single inkling. Had they read any copies of the Daily Prophet this summer?

Freya laid a hand on my shoulder as I turned my attention back on Headmistress McGonagall, smiling and clapping daintily. Fine, embroidered robes of green and silver and gold—matching her hat—trailed down to the floor at her feet. Meanwhile, my palms were beginning to sweat, even though this wasn’t the official selection ceremony for the Goblet of Fire—I was dying to hear the news and what she had to say about it.

Those fine, velvety robes followed McGonagall as she finally stood and approached the podium, a golden owl statue extending its wings as she stepped up to it. All the hall fell silent under her kind but watchful stare, her eyes currently scanning the room full of faces. “Good evening,” she said, the entire hall echoing the sentiment in turn. “Welcome back all, to another very special year at Hogwarts. Before I address the coming news, I would like to remind you of a few notices—”

 _“Oh, bloody hell…”_ I mumbled impatiently under my breath, ignoring the silver flash of Atrius’s eyes across the table.

It was all the usual notices—don’t go into the Forbidden Forest, don’t bring Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs onto campus—and that the inter-house Quidditch Cup was canceled for year (though quidditch itself would continue per normal). Judging by the stunned gasps that that last bit inspired, I wondered whether there were many in the Great Hall who really had no idea what was happening this year—a Triwizard Tournament meant no inter-house Quidditch Cup.

“And finally, it is my great pleasure to address what I am sure you all have heard prior to your arrival this evening,” McGonagall went on, finally growing more solemn. “We will play host, much as we have done many times in the past, to two other schools this year—in light of the Triwizard Tournament returning to Hogwarts.”

A loud rumble broke out across the crowd as she continued, “For those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament is an international magical competition that brings together three schools for a series of magical tasks. One student will be selected from each school, and all three will be competing in these contests.”

I rubbed my brow. _Get to the good part, already._

And so she did, bringing out the new Head of International Magical Cooperation to explain the age restrictions. Percy Weasely—once assistant to Bartemius Crouch Sr. and later the head of magical transportation—stood at the front of the room, looking pleased—like he’d been born to give instruction to a crowd of people. One by one, he explained the rules while a pair of helping hands brought out what I knew was the Goblet of Fire, hidden in a case of gold and jewels. When he was finished, McGonagall strode in front of the cup and faced us, throwing open the doors of the Great Hall, announcing the arrival of the first of the great wizarding schools that would be joining us—Koldovstoretz students and their headmaster, Varence Mikala.

We turned to face them, all four tables looking around for what we were sure would be a magnificent entrance. Instead of a crowd or group of people, cold wind blew in through the doors, growing colder and colder until the currents of air turned white, snowflakes swathing across the great hall like smoke. At first, that was exactly what I thought it was—until the smoke spun and landed at the front, revealing one student after another after another, followed by what I assumed was their headmaster—all dressed to the teeth in warm white furs and coats.

The Ilvermorny students, conversely, arrived with a series of twists and turns from the Great Hall's ceiling—the stormy night shifting and turning over itself until lightning struck down on either side of McGonagall's podium. Students appeared with each strike, followed by their headmaster, Agilbert Fontaine.

"Have a look at _him,_ " Freya whispered to my left, drawing my attention toward one of the Ilvermorny students, the lot of them moving toward the extra table that had been set up for them. At the far end of the Great Hall, opposite where we sat, he stuck out aptly among the peers settling around him. Tall and burly and rather cold-looking, his eyes were a bright shade of green, his hair a deep shade of black.

"Pretty boy from another school," I whispered back to her, earning a playful snort. I could've sworn his eyes flickered in our direction, but I ignored it as McGonagall turned her attention back on the Goblet of Fire, lowering the embroidered case that concealed it. A blue flame erupted from the lip of the cup, suspended in the air and snapping left and right. My heart raced as the head of the department continued explaining the rules, though they were just about everything I'd read about in the Daily Prophet.

“How old do you reckon that thing is?” I heard Oliver whisper as he leaned toward Theseus.

“Dunno. Ask Atrius—he’s got the most interest in it of all of us.”

As I looked at him, Atrius’s expression sent shudders down my spine—the borderline wrathful hunger with which he stared at the Goblet.

Clearly, interest was something he had in surplus.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucretia suddenly purred, snagging all of their attention—even Atrius’s. “I reckon there might be someone else who’s got a bit…invested.”

I swallowed thickly at the conniving gleam in her eye as she looked at me, as though she’d been waiting until this very moment to reveal my plans. Damn, but she’d heard me talk about it at the Lestrange house.

“Bugger off, Lu,” Freya hissed on my behalf, her brow set threateningly.

“What’s she talking about?” Theseus looked between us, confused.

“Might as well tell them now, don’t you?” Lucretia mused, staring right at me. “Evelyn’s planning on entering the tournament.”

Silence.

Oliver, Theseus, and Freya all turned their eyes on me—Atrius was the last to drag them in my direction. Looking like I’d just spat right into his plate.

If my heart was pounding before, it was downright drumming in my chest, now.

His arms slowly reclined, folding beneath him as he took on a composed yet predatory stance, angling his head to the side and observing me closely. _“You.”_ His voice spilled out like velvet. “You’re entering the tournament.”

It sounded more like an accusation than a question, but those were the first words he’d spoken to me since that day at the dueling club.

It was also the longest we’d looked at one another directly like this.

 _Be brave,_ I reminded myself as I held his stare. _Be worthy._

I looked Atrius square in the eyes and nodded, straightening to my full height. “Yes. I am.”

Our entire half of the table had turned to stare. And sure enough, there was plenty to see. The air might as well have crackled between us—with my fear, his fury. I’d have stared too, in their stead. After all, the last time Atrius and I had spoken—with witnesses, mind you—the conversation had ended with _my_ bloodbath.

Atrius’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was amused, but still a bit curious. “Well.” A slight grin tugged on the corner of his lip. He slowly lifted his hand, extending it to me—moving with all the grace I would expect from him. “May the best wizard win.”

I could feel the eyes on us—and could swear some people from the other tables had started to stare, too.

_Be brave. Be worthy._

“I plan to.” I reached out and took his hand, energy snapping between us and coursing through me like lightning.

The game was on.


	4. The Strangest Tea Party

Following dinner, I joined Freya and the others in retiring to the Slytherin dormitory. Upperclassmen weren’t absolutely required to turn in for the night, but I’d missed the common room terribly. It was different from the other houses,’ though they would never know it—one of many secrets we would carry to the grave. Particularly where the bedrooms were concerned, with their exceptional size. Our submersion beneath the black lake allowed a measure of space that few others could afford—and with many wealthy pureblood families donating to their upkeep over the years, one could say we were extremely…fortunate.

A pool of water lay still as a mirror in the center of the girls’ bedroom, partitioning the space between beds. I arranged my things, claiming the bed nearest to the window, while a single, ever-burning flame flickered above the pool, illuminating the green and silver drapes that covered our bedframes and hung above the tall windows. Bits of moonlight crept in through the very top, where there was a sliver of space above the water. The rest was obscured by the rippling surface of the lake, waves sloshed soundlessly against the glass.

In past years, I could swear I awoke to the sight of glistening scales—merpeople passing by in the greenish shadows of the water.

Classes were starting tomorrow, and Atrius and the others had disappeared off to their own dormitories. Once I was sure the common room was empty, I said good night to Freya and threw a plush green blanket over my shoulders, sauntering out to claim my schedule for the term. I’d heard the others’ voices down here some time ago, now the common room was empty, my footsteps loud against the wooden floors.

Across the sea of dark couches, vintage cupboards and fine tapestries depicting the adventures of medieval Slytherins, a single typewriter sat on the desk beneath the window. Despite their rustic appearance, all the oil lamps, candles, globes, books, and quills in the room hadn’t seen a touch of dust in our absence. And at this time of night, the greenish tint from the Black Lake was barely visible through the window. Moonlight danced in dim rays of light near the surface up above, the grey pillars lit up more by the sconces and fireplace than the lamps that hung on the wall.

God, I missed this place. It really was the only home I knew. 

Not that my friends would ever know why.

Producing my wand, I approached the typewriter and gave the spacebar a tap. Green sparks shot out from the tip and went to work along the letters, my schedule emerging on a parchment at the top. Divination and potions three times a week, along with magical theory, ghoul studies, and care of magical creatures twice a week. Defense against the dark arts had dwindled down to once a week now that I was in my final year, and advanced arithmancy would be my final class on Fridays.

I cringed a little at the thought of it—spending the best day of the week on the study of the magical properties of numbers.

Memories flooded me as I trailed absently across the room, reading my schedule as I went past the rounded table beneath the window. All manner of lamps, poultices, trophies and photos lined the dark cupboards—many of which were put there by students themselves. Legend had it that our common room was cold and empty, but that was understandable—legend couldn’t possibly know better.

Folding the parchment, I looked up and smiled at the set of picture frames standing behind the glass of one of the cupboards. One particular photo stood out among the others—myself with Freya, along with Oliver, Theseus, Lucretia, and Atrius. It was the first year that Freya had joined the Quidditch team and won her first game. The photo we’d snapped was too good not to keep. Atrius was a chaser, Freya a keeper.

 _Things will never be the same,_ I reminded myself as I looked back at the rounded table where we used to study together during our first few years. Six sets of quills were standing in a circle around a pile of parchment—the neatest they ever were, prior to the start of term. I recalled every one of the instances when the others would stand and leave as soon as Freya and I sat down. That behavior had started following the…incident with Atrius. Oliver and the others had shown their loyalty to Atrius around that time, forever cementing themselves as his friends, rather than ours.

Rather than mine, anyway. Freya was another story.

Folding the schedule in my hands, I shook off the melancholy feeling and went to bed. Early the following day, the cold atmosphere of the common room was chased out by the same banter and bustling that had been there the night before. All the room was bright with sunlight, and everyone was excited for classes to start—particularly the first years.

At the far corner of the room, leaning against a desk beside the fireplace, Freya looked more agitated than usual with her blonde hair braided tightly back, waiting for me to join her. “Bloody first years…” she mumbled once we were out. “God, but to be _so_ excited about something again—remember when we were first years?”

Sunlight poured onto us as we emerged through a hidden doorway by the Grand Staircase. I smiled at the memories. “I remember accidentally sending your bed across the room the first night, straight into the pool—then trying to dry it off again with _Incendio_ and setting it aflame.”

“That was _not_ funny,” she said, even though she was laughing. “I slept on the ground that night—just about the worst first impression you could’ve made on me.”

I threw an arm around her in a friendly hug. “Ah, but how else would you have known that I would be your partner in stupidity?”

“With recent events, I’d say you’re the leader.”

“There’s our ladies,” Oliver’s voice appeared before she could answer, emerging from the Great Hall. He and Atrius had gotten there early to have breakfast, it seemed. “And where are we headed this morning?”

“Advanced divination,” Freya droned at the two of them. “But we haven’t eaten, yet.”

Atrius didn’t so much as look up from the book he carried as he sipped from his coffee cup—was he planning on taking it to class with him?—instead, he turned and sauntered leisurely in the direction of the Grand Staircase, sleeves turned up like he was ready for a hard day’s work. Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ to Freya. I wasn’t sure why _I_ was the one feeling a modicum of disappointment—it’s not like I liked him talking to me, after all. Even if my fear of him had abated a bit, in light of recent events.

“Ah, we’ll see you there, then—enjoy your breakfasts!” Oliver said as he turned to follow after Atrius.

“Wait! You two have got divination, as well?”

“Yes,” he called back to us, turning briefly on the steps. Atrius was already at the top, waiting for the staircase to move. “Remember—North Tower!”

We waved him goodbye before entering the Great Hall, situating ourselves near the fireplace. Toast and jams and omelets floated by as we helped ourselves, along with a few good cups of coffee to wake us up. I’d forgotten how much I liked the Great Hall—the sound of birds outside, the background noise of the staircase moving. Come exam season, the sound of scratching quills and bubbling tinctures would join the ambiance. 

“Atrius took his coffee with him,” I said, staring down at my cup.

Freya picked at her plate and eyed me curiously. “For someone who claims to hate him, you sure have funny thoughts about my cousin,” she said. “Tell me, did he get under your skin last night?”

I immediately recoiled. “What? No. I just made an observation because he took the cup with him—didn’t you notice? No one ever takes stuff out of here.”

“No. I didn’t notice anything.” She rolled her eyes then picked up the fork again. “Nothing in him, anyway—come now, you refuse to talk about what happened last night, and today you bring up his coffee cup. Just like that?”

“I think you’re overthinking this.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mused. “Say, did you also happen to notice that he’d lost a bit of weight this past summer? Or that he holds his book in his left hand and not his right? Or that—”

“Enough, I got it,” I said, actually feeling a bit frustrated. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here.”

Freya stared at me coyly, at first. When I didn’t fold, she donned a look like her plan had come undone. Her toast had several dozen puncture holes. “I just…” She shrugged.

“You just what?”

The mirthfulness slowly drained from her expression. “I just thought that, since you stood up at him at the cup and even _spoke_ to him last night, that you might be warming up to him, a bit.”

“Why would I want to warm up to him?” I plucked a piece of toast and threw it into my mouth. “I’m going to face a lot worse than him if I’m selected for the Tournament. If I can’t answer a simple challenge from the likes of him, how am I going to survive something much bigger than him?”

Freya’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I suppose.”

“It doesn’t meant I’m interested in having a friendship with him. I’m sorry—I know he’s your family, but I will _never_ see him that way again. Even if I learn to converse with him casually, he’s withheld an apology for three years. He never even bothered to check on me and see if I’m alright.”

“How was he supposed to do that when you were running away from him constantly?”

“He could have sent a letter, or something.” I shrugged derisively. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. If he confronts me over the tournament again, so much the better—I’ll practice thickening my skin.”

Freya paused in picking at her food. “Alright,” she muttered. “If you say so…”

By the time we finished and made our way up to the North Tower, the rest of the class had already filled in. The divination classroom was as strange as it had been in years’ past—the same crimson drapes and lamps, the fireplace and assortment of shelves with candles, cards, and a mountain of teacups. As we walked by Trelawney’s chair—where she was seated—I knew immediately that we’d be starting with advanced tessomancy today. All the teacups floated in the air, less than a centimeter between them.

A number of the Kold and Ilvermorny students were joining us today, including the dark-haired fellow that Freya had pointed out last night. The Ilvermorny students wore gold and cranberry robes that were fastened by a Gordian knot. The Kolds, conversely, had mostly flowing robes in their respective house colors, looking a little too warm for this classroom.

The Ilvermorny student’s green eyes fluttered in the direction of the teacups and lingered there until his friend leaned across the table to get his attention. Meanwhile, Freya and I took our seats somewhat near Atrius and Oliver, waiting and watching as Trelawney gave her introductions that weren’t necessary to us _veterans_.

I startled as Freya slammed down a great big tome between us, written by Cassandra Vablatsky, which caused the crystal ball to shake—not that we’d be needing it today. The teacups were already floating to each person in the room. But before anyone could take a sip, Trelawney threw her hands up in a fit—smiling like she had something surprising to say.

“No, no! Not yet!” Her voice fluttered out of her. “You won’t be drinking from the cup before you.” I furrowed a brow down at the rippling black tea as Trelawney waved her hands excitedly across the classroom. “If you are to the right of the table, please stand and move three tables to the left.”

I snorted at Freya’s baleful expression as she stood, moving to her new table with a backward glance.

“To ensure a clear reading without the bias of prior acquaintance,” Trelawney explained, “you will be paired randomly today.”

Quiet mutters rumbled through the room as people moved, fabric shuffling beneath the tables. The rearrangement placed Atrius just behind me, but I paid him no mind. It was my new partner that caught my attention—the student from Ilvermorny strolling halfheartedly across the room. I knew he was coming toward me by the time he arrived, offering a short smile as he took his seat across from me. A bit disinterested, if anything.

There was a moment’s worth of time for introductions as Trelawney retired to her chair, allowing us to sip our tea. “Hi, there.” I smiled at him, then held out a hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts—my name’s Evie.”

Those green irises were so bright—so unnatural. Perhaps he was an animagus? “August,” he answered with an American accent.

I settled back in my cushion as the chatter around us continued. “So, how do you like Hogwarts?”

He glanced up and around as though observing the classroom for the first time. “It’s…different.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s better.”

It took a second to process that. I giggled heartily, drawing Freya’s attention across the room. Her expression went from surprised to interested, to _really_ interested in a flash.

August arched a handsome brow, though he didn’t seem that amused. “Didn’t realize it’d be that funny.”

“Oh, it was quite funny,” I said, then drank more of my tea. “I’m sorry you’ll find you have to go back at the end of the year.”

He stared at me. “Better to visit once than never at all.”

Atrius’s silver gaze caught my attention from over my shoulder. He lifted the tea cup to his lips, eyes fixed firmly on me. I looked back and met them for a few seconds, and he didn’t look away. Nor did he offer me a readable expressoin—and that, perhaps, was more unsettling than his persistence. Mercifully, Professor Trelawney picked that very moment to rise from her chair and instruct us further, having us exchange our teacups across the tables. I blinked annoyedly down at August’s cup, seeing a few familiar symbols from Vablatsky’s _Unfogging the Future_ —our textbook from first year:

A mountain - a symbol of a journey.

A spade - a sign of good fortune.

A bird - a sign of good news.

“Well, August, you’ll be a very lucky man in the coming future,” I said, looking up at him.

There was a strange expression on his face, and he immediately looked back down. “You have a…conflicting reading.”

“Oh? How’s th—”

Trelawney chimed in at that moment, interjecting, “Now, proceed to engage the delicacy of the Inner Eye—you can find instructions on page thirty-seven of your books. Write it as you go, you will hand in the assignment at the end of class.”

August turned his attention down to his own book with a furrowed brow. Meanwhile, I paged through mine. Pages and pages of cross-methodologies between the various branches of divination: xylomancy, myomancy, numerology, and even heptomology. Until finally, I reached page thirty-seven and looked down at the section on Inner Eye and tessomancy. Reaching for my wand, I volunteered myself for the first try. One by one, the tea leaves swirled at the bottom of the cup, forming a scene: A mountain becoming a spade upon which a bird fluttered by and landed at the pointed end.

“You will go on a journey that will bring you good fortune,” I muttered as the scene repeated. “I’d say there’s good news in your future, but I may very be fulfilling that prophecy, now.” I picked up a quill to write in my report to turn in at the end of class.

August continued to stare down at my cup. His lips parted and then closed again. “There is a deceitful friend at your doorstep,” he said. “They wear danger like a mask, and they will leave you both in falsehood and good fortune.”

 _What?_ “How many symbols are there?” I asked, uselessly angling to see what was at the bottom of the cup.

“A fair few,” he said. “There’s a cat standing at the foot of your house with a skull on its head, knocking the door and turning to a snake with a spade’s head when the door is opened.”

I had to blink a few times to really catch all that. “Well, at least there’s some good news in all that.”

“I suppose,” he said. There was the slightest twinge of interest as he peered across the table at me. “Any idea who this deceitful friend of yours might be?”

A slow shrug. “I couldn’t begin to guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a proud Slytherin, I never did think our common room got the clout it deserved. Cheers.
> 
> More often than not, I feel like Freya when I'm writing/plotting this out. Such a bird's eye view since she knows both Atrius and Evie so well. I can't decide if she's secretly more frustrated than Evie that Atrius never apologized.
> 
> Anywho. Thank you to everyone that's followed/favorited, and reviewed! :) I can't wait for you to see the meat grinder I'm going to put these people through.


	5. Three Years Ago

After a full day of classes, the common room was fairly empty. Only one other Slytherin sat at the table beneath the window while Theseus joined Freya and myself at the couches, the leather cushions soft enough for me to sink into them. A game of Gobstones was laid out in front of us, the occasional clink and slide against the wooden coffee table resonating through the room. In essence, each player competed by knocking the other’s gobstones in and out of a circle drawn in chalk—Freya was playing against Theseus, and while there was some speculation of the others joining us, they were nowhere in sight. Lucretia and Oliver were god knows where, and Atrius—well, he was hovering around here, somewhere.

I threw my head back and laughed as one of Freya’s losing gobstones spat a putrid liquid in her face. “Didn’t you say you were good at this game?” I said. “Or was Scorpius just _that_ good?”

“Nose down, Evie,” Freya warned, though she was smirking.

“I’m _so_ frightened.”

Theseus chuckle on the other end of the couch. A teapot floated between us, pouring a bit of tea into my cup as well as his. “Honestly, the way you two talk to one another—I’d never guess you were friends.”

Freya shrugged. “At least Evie bites back—everyone else is scared of me.”

“And for good reason.” At that, she stuck her tongue out at him. “What, d’you think I’m wrong?”

“Can’t you are—prickly personalities run in our family.” Freya’s eyes jumped to the other side of the common room, eyes lighting wickedly at whoever was coming toward us. “You’d know all about that—wouldn’t you, cousin?”

I didn’t have to look back to know that Atrius she was talking to.

“What are you going on about?” he muttered as he came around the couch and—to my surprise—situated himself between myself and Theseus.

I was immediately uncomfortable, shifting closer to my end of the couch.

“Having a prickly personality,” Freya said cheerfully. “Or—as Evie’s called it, an ‘unfortunate’ one.”

I’d been staring into the massive fireplace, distracting myself with the ornate design and vastness of the pit. At her remark, I felt their eyes on me immediately—save for Atrius’s—and it was Freya I turned a glare on. Damn, but I could spring across the table to wipe that smirk off her face.

“Taunting me, now?” To the average ear, my tone might’ve sounded genuinely aggressive, but Freya knew better. Just as I did. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

“ _Trying to start something,”_ the words escaped her as she sighed, leaning forward to grab her teacup off the table. What was that supposed to mean?

Atrius moved before I could respond, producing his wand from one of his pockets. I flinched a little at the sight of it. He must have seen it, too, as he waved it rather slowly toward the teacup sitting very specifically in front of _me._ The porcelain clinked as it lifted into the air and floated toward him, and I merely watched. His expression absolutely deadpan as he reached out with both hands to take it.

“That’s my cup,” I said as Theseus awkwardly played his next move.

Atrius made a show of smacking his lips, but didn’t look at me. “Is it.”

“Do you want to stop drinking from it, now?”

“Are you ill?” he muttered listlessly.

“What…?”

_“Are you ill.”_

I furrowed a brow. “No?”

“Then I see no problem.”

I exchanged a glance with Freya. Her eyes were narrowed just as mine, but there was more than confusion in hers. There was amusement, and—curiosity.

“You realize my mouth’s been on that, do you?” I said again.

This time, he glanced down at the edge of the cup, brow slightly arched. Then took another sip.

Fine, then. I plastered my lips shut and pressed my back into the couch, digging the entire side of my body into the armrest. Atrius’s weight beside me had the cushions sloping, but I grappled that armrest defiantly, swinging a leg over to cement my body where I sat. I focused on the basket of logs beside the fireplace, counting seven in total. The rustic candle stand upon the cupboard behind it had five candlesticks.

“Evie?” I’d been fuming, just barely starting to trail away when I heard my name. I turned toward Theseus, looking across Atrius to see him. It was hard pretending he wasn’t there—despite his leanness, he was so damnably tall, there was barely room for him between the couch and the table.

“Sorry, what?” I said.

“Do you want to play?” he repeated—evidently—gesturing to the table.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“I’ll play, thanks for asking,” Atrius said coolly, then looked at me.“Hard to believe you’re not in the mood.” His voice matched his deadpan expression—a little too unsettling for my liking, but I sensed the question in it. Was he suggesting we play one another?

I didn’t need to glance back at the table to picture us sitting across from one another, facing off in in the game. Atrius held my stare, his silver eyes flickering gold in the light of the fire, creamy skin visible in the ambient lighting. He _was_ suggesting that we play each other—I was all but certain. And while I may not have verbally responded, my body began reacting immediately to the notion—palms sweating, muscles tensing as flashbacks began of the last time he and I had stood in front of each other like that. Facing off. I could still picture the movement of his lips, the colorless spell that erupted from his wand and set shards to my body.

Damn it all, deep down, I was still afraid of him.

I sat up straight, trying to conceal my reaction. What was the point of this? Atrius had to have known the stress that memory would cause. I’d just begun speaking to him again—not that I particularly wanted to—but we were in the same room together, sitting on the couch beside one another—was there something about this that displeased him? Was he trying to push me away?

“Leave me alone,” the words came far more clipped than I intended, void of emotion. When I glanced back, an inexplicable emotion was scrawled tightly across Atrius’s features—gone the second his eyes met mine.

I looked away. Off in the corner of the room, sitting around the table hard at work, was the group of Slytherins that’d been studying there before. Only one among them didn’t turn away immediately—Serena Bagshot was her name, I think. A rather petit girl with delicate features. It rather stood out, the way she perused Atrius’s face, dragging her light eyes back down to her book. Her black hair curtained her face on either sides, and…

She was very pretty.

“So, Evie, when will you be putting your name into the Goblet?” Freya chimed pointedly from across the table, waving her wand to send another gobstone flying at one of Theseus’s. God, she thrived on drama.

I swallowed thickly, my words still a bit jumbled inside my head. “Tomorrow. After potions.”

“What about you, Atrius?” Freya asked without looking in his direction. I could smack her. But I loved her too much.

Atrius’s eyes fluttered toward his cousin, his expression conveying the same thing I was thinking—what was Freya’s aim in these chaotic lines of conversation? There were times when I could really see the influence of her family shining through in her family. Not that I would pass judgement myself, but she’s said so herself many times—there isn’t a soul in the Wizarding World that doesn’t know the Lestrange reputation of sharp tongues and fiery personalities. But this? A call for utter chaos. Perhaps that’s simply who Freya is.

I loved her all the same, for all the good qualities she possessed. Even if a layer conflicting-loving dust did cover those qualities occasionally.

Instead of answering, Atrius rose from the couch and left the common room, his footsteps echoing as he ascended to the dormitories. At that, Serena Bagshot packed her things and left, as well.

Wonderful—I could finally breathe again.

“Thanks for that,” I said, shooting Freya a seething look. “What’re you playing at, anyway? Are you honestly trying to get your cousin to fight me?”

Freya straightened pointedly and arched a wicked brow. “I don’t appreciate being accused of such things.”

“Well, it’s either that, or you’re genuinely trying to sew some discordinto my life—out of boredom, no less.”

Theseus sucked in a breath, awkwardly swirling the tip of his wand through his hair. He really didn’t seem like he wanted to be there, and I was starting to feel the same.

“It’s not your life that concerns me,” Freya said, acquiescing with a touch of bitterness. She shrugged. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll stay out of it.”

“Stay out of what?” I was genuinely confused.

“Nothing.” She sighed, then from the couch. A wave of her wand, and all the gobstones scattered outside the circle. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. See you later.”

Theseus and I watched confusedly as Freya made her way out of the common room, going up to the dormitories.

“I really don’t understand her sometimes,” I said. “That’s a rare occasion, mind you—but what the hell was that all about, anyway?”

Theseus looked like he was restraining some remarks. “The cup was the first time you’ve spoken to Atrius in three years.”

“So?”

A slow shrug. “So, we don’t talk much about it—but if I had to guess, I’d say everyone’s excited that the two of you are talking again. Oliver, Freya, and I, leastways.”

“I’m not ‘talking’ to him,” I said as I sat back. “You make it sound like we were friends before all this. I was defending my teacup from him, I don’teven know why he took it in the first place.” I looked down at the cup, just in time for the teapot to return and fill it.

“There’s a reason to everything Atrius does,” Theseus said. “Not a single thing he does for no reason. He learned that from you, you know.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?” Theseus looked away, suddenly reluctant to clarify. “Come on, you brought it up. Tell me what you mean by that.”

Theseus’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally said, “The last time he made a decision without thinking… a hefty price was paid. And now, he neither says nor does anything without giving it triple the amount of thought any one of us might. Granted, that mind of his works fast, but it also works hard.”

A pause of silence. “That might not have done him the justice you intended it to,” I said. “After all, he still hasn’t apologized for what he did. Is that purposeful, as well?”

“I wasn’t trying to do him justice. If anything, you might take it as a…hint, of sorts.”

“A hint for what?”

“That there are no accidents with Atrius. No coincidences. Not anymore.”

“Why would I take that hint? How is that supposed to help me with anything?” I asked. “Are you saying there’s extensive thought behind petty annoyances like drinking my tea and inviting me to play gobstones?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m trying to get you to understand—you don’t have to be so afraid of him anymore.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did he ask you to convey that to me?”

“Atrius never asks anyone for anything—he takes care of everything himself,” Theseus said. “And anyway, I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of it. If there’s anything I might rationalize to you about Freya’s behavior, it’s that she wants this crossfire between the two of you to end. We all do—but if Atrius has any intentions toward you, of any nature, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Of ‘any’ nature? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that if Atrius has something to say, you’ll hear it soon enough.”

I snorted in derision. “There’s only one thing I’d want to hear from him, and he’s several years late in delivering it. I doubt I’ll ever hear it, at this rate.”

Theseus was quiet for a moment. “I doubt that, too.”

That wasn’t the answer I was expected. “You do?” A nod. “Why?”

More silence. “I know what happened between the two of you was traumatizing,” he said. “But Atrius was served a side of it you never got to see. I doubt he likes revisiting it much, particularly where crafting an apology is concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“The day it happened—Freya went with you to the hospital wing, so no one told you what become of Atrius.” A dark look came over his features. “Oliver won’t talk about it, even to this day. Lucretia is…another story. But we were all there.”

I waited for him to continue, watching the growing distance in his eyes. Floating back to the memory. When he didn’t go on, I asked, “What happened to him?”

Theseus looked at me. “Oliver and I followed him that day. At first, we thought he was wondering down the hallways in a daze, until he stumbled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. God only knows what he thought to find in there—it was late at night, if you recall—and we were alone.

“But then he began pounding against Professor Hornette’s door. Had the place in an uproar, screaming and cursing some inane nonsense about his wand. It was unlike anything I’d even seen from him—hadn’t seen anything like it before, haven’t seen anything like it since,” he said. “Half of what he said made no sense, the rest sounded like the words were being shaken from his body. Even as he started hitting the door with both hands, the professor didn’t answer right away. It was just enough time for us to pull him away and get him back into the hall. From there, he went straight to the lavatory on the sixth floor, and….”

I tilted my head to get a better look at his expression. It was darker than I’d ever seen it. “And what?”

“And it was the first time I’d ever seen him cry.”

I felt frozen in place. “He was…crying?”.

“Not the way you’re thinking,” Theseus explained, his expression filling with the memory. “There were no sobs coming out of him. Nothing but fury in his features—and yet, I still remember the way the tears streaked through the anger. He scrubbed his hands raw until they were bleeding, and even then, he kept saying that couldn’t get the blood off of them. It took mine and Oliver’s strength combined to pull him away from the sink. He fought us every second and then snapped his wand in half in a fit of rage. That was when Lu found us.”

His voice fell to a murmur, “I’ve…never seen her like that, either. Despite our best efforts, neither Oliver nor I managed what she did—Lu had him against the pillars within seconds, a hand at his neck. Said his weakness was disgusting.”

My heart twisted as I pictured it. I didn’t know what to say.

Theseus went on, “After that, he was sent home for a week. When he came back, he was…different.”

I considered that a moment. “What happened to him?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. He never told us, and he refuses to talk about it now.” They probably didn’t know what spell he used, then. “His parents had him home for a week, and he returned…calmer than when he left. After that, he still pretends that night never happened at all. I think some part of him calcified in those moments Lucretia had him—so much fury and pain, and then it was gone.”

I had to wonder where that pain went. Where he’d managed put it all.

“I’m not sure what I expected to learn of this,” I said. “But it wasn’t all that…”

“You shouldn’t tell anyone I told you this,” Theseus said. “I don’t think Atrius would’ve wanted me to tell you. I only did it now because… well, it’s not exactly something anyone would want to waltz right up and talk to you about. You’re talking to Atrius again, I think we’ve all taken that as some sort of sign.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s not a sign of anything. There’s nothing between Atrius and me to reconcile, there never was. We weren’t even friends back then, it’s what made it so easy to be afraid of him—I don’t know that there won’t always be a part of me that is,” I said. “Thank you for telling me, though. I won’t tell anyone we had this talk. I wouldn’t want to know how Atrius would punish you anyway.”

“Yeah, you never know,” Theseus said. “You never know anything with Atrius Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picturing his breakdown as I wrote it, I felt so sorry for Atrius. Being the author, I know what happened when he went home (the conversation he had with his father about it)—I already know that Evie will be meeting Draco down the line, so I'm really excited to write that interaction. I'm more-or-less pantsing this as I go with some details filled in, and lately I've been thinking extra hard about how Draco would've felt when he heard what Atrius did. Or how Atrius now feels about Evie being so afraid of him. 
> 
> But anyway—thank you to everybody that's been reading/following, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Even though it was a little bit sad.


	6. It's Just a Cup...

My nerves were eating me alive. I couldn’t focus on a damn thing Professor Slughorn was saying and barely noticed the tapping of the rain against the windows of the potions classroom. I stared aimlessly at the bezoar slowly disintegrating in the cauldron before me, rainbows of black and gold and silver swirling in opposite directions. The glass rod swirled on its own volition without my touching it, but the currents of the potion were as scattered as my mind currently was.

Finally, the potion fell flat. Black as tar, still as oil.

Damn, but I’d failed the assignment. Too distracted by what I was going to do after tonight’s lesson—straight to the Great Hall to enter my name into the Goblet of Fire.

The sun was already low in the sky, the class itself was coming to an end. Frustrated, I slammed the potions book shut on the elaborate text, all the glasses on the table tinkling as I moved them aside and pulled a piece of parchment toward me. Taking one of the quills set up on the table, I wrote up the result in an awfully rushed manner that made my handwriting barely legible, then extracted a sample into one of the tinctures provided. Leaving the quill on the table,

I went across the room to where Slughorn was explaining something to another student.“Ah, Ms. Nott—finished already?” He glanced at my potion, his face twisting in the manner it always did when he spotted something curious. “Is that your submission?”

I was in the Slug Club last year, so my membership this year was almost given. In light of that, I could imagine how disappointing this was to him—but I had my reasons. “Sorry, Professor. Suppose this wasn’t quite up my alley tonight.”

“Not a problem—you see, the others haven’t quite got it as well. We may revisit this in the next lesson.”

I smiled and turned to head across the room, leaving my potion and parchment on the designated table. From there, my entire body was a cocktail of anxiety as I made my way back across the castle. It was getting darker sooner these days, with the coming of autumn, but it wasn’t quite late enough for the moon to be out. Only the crisp bite of the storm cooling the castle walls.

When I arrived, the entire Great Hall was tinted blue with the light of the goblet—and the age line drawn around it—but there were far more people than I anticipated when I first stepped through the doors. The parchment with my name on it had been sitting in my pocket all day long, and now felt heavier than a little lead ball. Benches had been set up on either side of the goblet, which was mounted on a stone fixture in the center of the room. 

The murmuring didn’t stop as I made my way toward the center of the hall. I hadn’t told anyone besides Freya and the others that I intended to join--I supposed they hadn’t told anyone else, though I couldn’t say why anyone would care anyway. Unless Freya’s sentiments on the train rang true—perhaps that’s why I was thinking of them now. Would people genuinely care that a descendant of Death Eaters was entering the competition? What would it mean if they did?

My family was left in ruins after the last battle of Hogwarts. Generations later, we still felt the consequences of it—my parents, especially, as they divorced, with related circumstances driving them apart. At this point, they barely spoke to one another, let alone me. But as sad as all that was—to me, anyway—I doubted anyone else at Hogwarts cared. Freya’s accusations were ridiculous; I was my own person, after all.

The Lestranges and Malfoy families were another story. The Lestranges had their own wealth of money to fall back on, while the Malfoys had evaded imprisonment entirely—and therefore total ruin. Their fortune stemmed from a stroke of wisdom from Draco Malfoy’s mother, followed by Lucius’s aid in bringing fellow Death Eaters to justice after the war. Draco himself suffered little of the consequences and went on to marry a woman outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight—Atrius’s mother, Astoria Greengrass. Their marriage, according to rumor, continued to be a point of contention in Atrius’s family, as Astoria refused to conform with the idea that muggles were the scum of the earth.

Not that it mattered—not that any of it mattered.

The trickling rain had grown to a pounding sound against the towering windows of the Great Hall, the roof churning with storm clouds that reflected the storm outside.

“Evie!” My name was shouted across the hall.

I stopped. Looking around for the source, I saw the others crowded in the darkest corner of one of the benches—Freya, who had called out to me, along with Atrius, Oliver, Theseus, and Lucretia. I made my way toward them, slowing only to observe the goblet’s blue flames. I should’ve just turned and chucked my name into the fire, but I didn’t. Instead, I approached the others with a knot in my stomach that wouldn’t abate. Centered among them, Atrius lounged back against the bench, slowly turning his attention on me. Beside him was Lucretia, looking as cold as she always did, and the others circled the two of them like pets.

Two peas in a pod, I realized. Both Atrius and his cousin both looked equally disdainful. Though after Theseus’s revelation the other night, I had to wonder how much of it was real—where did the bitterness come from, in Atrius? 

“Hallo, Evie,” Oliver chirped, his demeanor far too chipper for the darkness they resided in. “Here to cast your vote?”

“Vote on what?”

“On who should be selected,” he said. “Come now, between yourself and Atrius, who do you really think deserves to be in the tournament?”

I looked at Atrius, his silver eyes piercing. Both his hands were intertwined, his pointer finger tapping as he waited.

“I think the goblet should decide that, don’t you?” I said.

The question wasn’t particularly aimed at anyone, but it was Freya who answered, “Well, go on, then.” She shrugged. “What’re you waiting for? Come all this way for nothing?” Her words were cutting, but I knew she was upset with me—worried. She was probably the only one among them who was, aside from Theseus.

I pulled the parchment from my pocket and stared at it a moment. Ironic, the way Atrius scanned my every movement while my best friend refused to look at me. I took it as a sign that there was no more arguing to be done—I just needed to get this over with. And so, reminding myself of all the reasons I’d decided to do this, I turned and made my way to the goblet. Alone.

One other student from Ilvermorny cast her name into the fire just before I stepped up to the age line, a round of applause breaking out from the hall. I thought nothing of it as I crossed the circle and observed the cup—the choice I was making. There were runes encircling the lip, the cracked, wooden surface of the bowl leading down to the stem and engravings at the bottom. The fire itself licked and spat as though there was actual wood burning inside the bowl, all the hall falling silent as I turned my attention back up to it. Finally, the heat scorched my fingertips as I threw the parchment into the flame, turning it red for several moments.

No one clapped.

Not that I’d been paying attention, but the moment my name was cast into the fire, I suddenly had the strangest feeling that I’d done something wrong.

“Chilling, isn’t it?” A voice appeared behind me, startling me a bit. “Having eyes on you that you didn’t ask for, looking upon with you with fear?”

I turned in place and found myself staring up at Atrius. In the ambient glow of the fire, his features looked even more pronounced—as did the iciness in his expression. His skin was creamy, silver eyes gleaming with thought and warning.

On instinct, I backed away a step. “No one’s looking at me with fear.”

He arched a perfect brow. “Aren’t they?”

“Why would they be?”

“Why not?” He moved around me to reach the cup. “Who knows what darkness lurks inside a person, waiting to be brought out?” Atrius slowly lifted a hand, depositing a slip into the fire. Once more, it burned red. “And what better to bring it out than a murderous competition?”

My mouth fell open. Was he taunting me? He had to be—the reference to our incident couldn’t be by accident or ignorance. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” I murmured, making a show of rolling my eyes. “The darkness within and all the ways it can come to fruition.”

“Yes, I would know all about it—and all about embracing it,” his voice fell low. “Happy to teach you a thing or two.”

“Why would I want to embrace that?” I said. “To hurt other people without remorse?”

Atrius had circled me a little, but stopped at that moment to throw me a cutting glare. “It might just keep you alive.”

In my defense, I didn’t look away. I merely stepped back a notch. “You say that like I’ve already been chosen.”

“I wasn’t talking about the competition.”

“What else could you be talking about?”

“I think you know.”

“No, I really don’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, then,” Atrius murmured. “I’ll simply wish you luck. May the best of us win.”

With that, he blew past me out of the Great Hall, leaving us all in silence for several minutes.

I followed shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today's chapter is a little short, I really want to get to the good parts and get going with the tournament!
> 
> Lots of new readers/reviewers/lurkers this week-a warm welcome to each and every one of you, and thank you so, SO much for reading and extending your support :) I appreciate it deeply.
> 
> Please wish me luck/send positive vibes/prayers/whatever it is that's your personal expression of sending good wishes to someone-I've begun hardcore querying for my IRL projects. The competition is so intense.
> 
> See you all next time! :)


	7. Don't Hold Your Breath

The champion selection—one of the most anticipated nights of this year—was later in the day than any dinner or gathering we’d had in the Great Hall.I’d been out in the courtyard with Freya and Theseus for most of the evening, having snuck a few extra cinnamon rolls after dinner, but I was having trouble getting through mine.My anxiety had tapered down to a worrisome feeling as I stared up at the moon, which peaked out behind layers upon layers of clouds. The foliage growing over the courtyard arches seemed to glisten in its light, fluttering in the breeze. Snowfall didn’t always come around as early as October, but I was beginning to feel the winter chill.

Or maybe it was this place. This night.

After all, this courtyard—it was where _they_ had marched.

We had studied the Battle of Hogwarts extensively in my classes, learning how and when the Dark Lord was defeated and all the events that led up to it. So great and powerful was he, that Hogwarts’ wards weren’t strong enough to repel his voice when it sought the Chosen One. We had learned how Harry Potter had sought out the ghost of Ravenclaw tower to obtain the Lady’s lost diadem. How the Order of the Phoenix had snuck into Hogwarts to stand together against the Dark Lord. How dementors floated through the skies awaiting the arrival of the Chosen One like death incarnate. How our headmistress and many of the professors stood guard over the school, their protective spells warding off the Dark Lord’s forces.

One resounding fact shuddered through me tonight: this was the courtyard where Death Eaters had once stood. It was where students had marched into the Great Hall in fear and doubt—something my own kin had participated in. As I glanced around the desolate courtyard now, the wind howling as it blew through the arches, I wondered whether the students of that time ever once thought that the school would survive. Whether anyone could have imagined that such darkness befall this place to begin with, though it was destined to be eradicated. That students might one day return.

I could picture the students of that time clearly if I tried hard enough, taste the raw breath of danger that must have settled over the school. They must have suffered so much fear and doubt, not knowing who would live through the night—

“Are you cold, Evie?” Theseus said, drawing my attention from whatever they’d been talking about. “You’re shaking a bit.”

On any other night, I might’ve smiled at his concern. Tonight, I felt too heavy to smile. “No,” I simply said. “Can’t tell if it’s my nerves or the actual weather.”

“You know where it’s unmistakably freezing?” Freya said, her voice brimming with defeat. “Inside a grave.”

I looked at her, her pale features illuminated in the moonlight. She wouldn’t look at me. Her coldness wasn’t a surprise, but after I’d officially cast my name into the goblet, there wasn’t much use for it. Her snide quips had lost their punch once she realized their futility, but she was as determined as ever to make me regret my decision. Perhaps it was an apology she was waiting on, but she would never get it.

“Lovely thought,” I muttered under my breath. “Good thing Atrius is more likely to be chosen than I am.”

Not that was helpful to say, in retrospect, but Freya neither rolled her eyes nor pouted—she merely stared directly at the cobbled ground and offered a small shrug.

Sadness pinched my chest. “Freya, I—”

“Hey, you lot,” Oliver’s voice appeared behind me. Atrius and Lucretia were following him out of the front doors. “Can’t you see everyone gathering in the Great Hall? It’s almost time for the selection.”

“Of course we see them,” Freya said bitterly and stood. “We’re not blind, you idiot.”

Oliver’s brows rose at the tone she took on, but she didn’t wait for an actual response. Theseus gave me a weak smile as he rose from where he’d been leaning against an arch. I was left at the tail end of the group as they migrated back toward the doors, but for a while, I didn’t move. Nor did I look in their direction to see if anyone was waiting on me—instead, I stood and wondered—for the first time—whether I had really made a mistake by casting my name into the fire.

My ancestor had been one of the earliest Death Eater’s in existence—one of the first, in fact.

Maybe Freya had been right about this from the beginning…

I shook my head and turned to head back toward the doors, feeling heavier than I ever had before. Atrius had either been waiting or caught up looking at the moon as I had, but he began moving as soon as I did. I got a glimpse of his tense expression before he turned, his face cast in a whiter light than I had ever seen it, leaving only the silver in his eyes to gleam like chips of ice.

The Great Hall took on the same bluish light it had when I put my name into the goblet. The benches had disappeared back into the tables we’d used at dinnertime, though the crowds from Ilvermorny and Koldovstoretz made the entire space feel much smaller than it ordinarily did. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that weight had taken root, and no amount of bustling was enough to distract me as I sifted down the row of students—all dressed in sweaters, pants and skirts (having left their robes in the dormitories, which were only really required for classes).

“Evie,” said a voice, followed by someone tapping me on the shoulder.

I turned and grinned at my new acquaintance from divination class. “August. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too,” he said. “How are you tonight?”

A slow shrug. “Not as excited as I thought I’d be.”

“I heard you put your name into the goblet. There’s only one ‘Evie’ I know of, so I figured it had to be you.”

“It was me.”

“Yeah.” His green eyes painted blue as he glanced at the fire. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” I murmured as I looked back at him. “Think there’s only about two people in my group that I can really call friends, and one of them might murder me faster than this competition.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to be chosen?”

“I don’t know…” My voice fell to a whisper. “Suppose the chances are low enough that I shouldn’t worry. Whatever happens, I’ll try to be glad of it.” 

August’s gaze crossed the room, then settled back on me with a meaningful look. “Well, I’ll applaud you if you do get chosen.” Someone called him from behind. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Good luck.”

I offered him as warm a smile as I could muster. “Yeah. Definitely. Thank you.”

I rejoined the others moments later, taking the only spot left beside Atrius, to my minor annoyance. He shifted a little to make room but somehow still managed to take up damnable amount of space. It was still a bit difficult to look directly at him after my discussion with Theseus in the common room—my inner mind’s vision of Atrius was ice incarnate, so it was hard to picture him heated enough to lose control the way he had depicted.

I crossed my arms atop the table and looked around at the students bustling. All of them—all of _us_ —were joined here by magical blood, with the goblet standing between us like a monumentin the room. As I stared up into the flames, they seemed to flicker ominously in response, flashing left and right before settling again.

“Atrius?” a delicate voice appeared behind me. The group’s conversation paused at the sound of it. I turned toward Atrius as he looked back at the source—toward Serana Bagshot, a waif of a girl hovering over him like a shadow. Once more, her black hair covered her face on either sides, but the blue of her eyes were made brighter by the light of the goblet. She was staring down at him with a lethal sort of calm that made her both intimidating and fiercely beautiful.

“I wanted to wish you luck,” she said. “I saw you put your name in, but I wanted to wait until tonight to say something. I hope you get selected.” Her eyes fluttered toward me in something akin to challenge. I narrowed mine in turn faced away from her, scanning the others’ bewildered and amused expressions as they watched the exchange.

A beat of silence. “Thank you,” Atrius’s voice came out unexpectedly soft—soft enough to surprise me.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

“That girl fancies you,” Oliver said as soon as Serana was gone.

To my right, Atrius turned and leveled a flat stare at him. The grin he donned was absolutely feline. “Maybe.”

“You might ask her to the Yule Ball.”

Atrius didn’t respond to that, and I was in no mood to listen anyway. As the last of the students filed into the Great Hall, Headmistress McGonagall came through the doors and strutted down the center row. She swung out her wand and doused the sconces, slowing as they simmered to a dull glow. One look around our faces, and that was all it took for the students to quiet down in her presence. That was the kind of authority she commanded.

“Good evening, students,” she said, pacing around the goblet. “Thank you all for joining us this evening. As you all know, we will be selecting our champions for the tournament tonight. I’ll ask you to all stay seated until the end.”

She paused for effect. “In past years, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament collected a trophy following the successful completion of each contest—that will not be the case this year.” A dull murmur broke out among the crowd. “That prize will be withheld until the end of the competition.”

I glanced toward Freya out of habit, but her expression was icy as she watched McGonagall talk. Again, she refused to look at me.

“Now…” McGonagall turned toward the cup, and the entire room slowly silent once again, watching as she paced around it like a predator—her cat eyes never leaving the flames.

They finally burnt red and spat out a piece of paper. It fluttered down to McGonagall as though it knew exactly where she’d be. As she unraveled it, the entire room went cold with silence. “The champion from Koldovstoretz is Vasilisa Roventin,” she proclaimed, and a beautiful girl with dark skin and burnt-amber hair rose from one of the tables. The entire group around her cheered as she approached and shook McGonagall’s hand, turning to head toward the trophy room.

The goblet spat out another piece of paper. Again, she caught it in the air at the exact moment it fluttered by. “The champion for Ilvermorny is… Sayre Reginis.”

 _Sayre?_ I realized inwardly as the crowd broke out in applause—myself included—that the student’s first name was the same as Ilvermorny’s founder. Her black hair trailed all the way down to her hips, tied back in a tight pony tail.

My breath stalled in my lungs. McGonagall turned back to the cup for a third time, the flames fluttering about a bit more wildly—or maybe that was just me. I couldn’t blink without them flaring all over the place. But my heart was racing, absolutely pounding in my ears as she third and final name shot out from the flames, fluttering down to McGonagall’s hand.

Every second was slow as I watched her catch it.

Bring it in front of her.

Unravel it.

Read it…

“The Hogwarts champion…”When her eyes lifted to me, my entire body froze solid. “Evelyn Nott.”

I was drained of emotion. Completely unmoving. For a moment, I could swear I saw nothing, heard nothing…

Nothing but my name—she had read _my_ name.

_I was chosen._

The goblet had chosen _me—_

I rose from the edge of the bench where I sat, some measure of applause breaking out in my wake. I felt…naked, all of a sudden. Multitudes of eyes were on me, but I felt none of the rush of excitement I thought I would. “Congratulations, Ms. Nott,” McGonagall said as I drifted closer, slowly reaching up to shake her extended hand. “I wish you the best of luck.”

I nodded slowly.

If anyone asked, I could have sworn I’d blacked out through the walk back to the trophy room, which was larger than I anticipated. As I opened the door and walked down the steps, a multitude of chirping sounds echoed throughout the vast space, the light of the fireplace glinting against every surface. Sayre and Vasilisa approached from their respective corners of the room, looking like they’d been meandering about looking at all the trophies.

“Hello,” I said with a smile, but neither of them offered one in turn.

“Hello,” Vasilisa was the first to answer first. “My name is Vasilisa, but I go by Lisa.”

When she held out her hand, I took it in mine. “Evie. Pleasure to meet you.” I turned my attention on Sayre next. “And you—sorry, your name was…?”

“Sayre.” She took my hand and shook it.

“Are you two as nervous as I am?” I said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I don’t get nervous,” said Sayre.

“Oh…”

“I do,” Lisa said, smirking a bit. “What do you think they have in store for us?”

“Nothing too homicidal, I hope,” I said.

I rather doubted it.

***

The entire Slytherin common room was full when I returned, as though they’d all been waiting for me to arrive. The moment I passed through the pillars, a roar of excitement broke out through he space, eliciting the first smile I’d really worn this entire night. Not even when McGonagall and others from the ministry and school briefed the three of us on what to expect moving forward, and the honor of being selected.

I smiled only as I was swept into my crowd of classmates, though I soon noticed that there were only two faces missing from the lot of them: Atrius and Freya.

Through the revels that continued into the night, they didn’t show themselves. Even after the excitement had gone down, leaving me drained in the middle of the common room, they never appeared to congratulate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter was a tad slow, it's really one of those "setting up" ones for what's coming next. Hope you all are staying safe, thank you for all your support!


End file.
